


Grip

by Flufferdoodle



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Death, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Namelessshipping, Sad, in reverse, originalshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25326001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufferdoodle/pseuds/Flufferdoodle
Summary: Ten years old, Blue knew that his grip wasn’t gentle. He knew that he held on too long, until well after whatever was inside was dead.
Relationships: Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Red
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	Grip

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Your Life in Reverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171860) by [wewhofightmonsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewhofightmonsters/pseuds/wewhofightmonsters). 



> All the important moments, in reverse.

Blue looks down at the freshly turned dirt, red poppies surrounding the plain gray stone sitting at its head. It looked so simple, so unnoticeable. The bare minimum. Exactly what Red would have wanted, exactly what Blue would have hated. It sat in the middle of its unfinished row, the rest of the fields sprawling out around him.

When he was young, the cemetery was a rose garden. It was beautiful, natural, with little Roselia and Budew tending to the flowers. The town eventually deemed it too costly to maintain and directed funding elsewhere, and the roses were left to wilt. The Roserade left, her entourage following close behind her. Blue wondered where they went.

He wished they would come back, now, as he looked down at the grave. He wished that this place still held an ounce of the magic the man buried before him gave to the world.

But that was exactly the problem. He had already given away everything he had; he had nothing left. And now he lay in the cold earth, and Blue wished he could give it all back. Just for one more day. One more smile.

Orange and purple shadowed the clouds as the sun set over the mountains, but Blue couldn’t bring himself to look up and watch it. Cloudy eyes fixed on a loss he could barely comprehend, he refused to let the horrible, offending peak that caused this pain get the satisfaction of his gaze.

In the darkness, Blue opened his palms and stared, wondering how to let go.

**-line break** -

“One more trip,” Red whispered, face pushed into Blue’s neck. Blue’s breath hitched.

“Why?” Blue asked quietly. “Aren’t you happy here?”

Red stayed quiet, light stubble scratching against Blue’s sensitive skin, but Blue felt too terrified to feel it. Blue couldn’t do this again.

“Here is good,” Red said quietly. “But home is there.”

Blue wanted to say so many things. Demand answers.

_Why is a frigid mountain a better home than here, with me? Why can’t I be good enough? Why can’t I give you enough? Why do you constantly want to leave? What can I possibly do to make you stay?_

Blue stared at the light, instead, because that was the only way he knew how to stop the tears.

“I’ll be back,” Red promised, and Blue wanted so, _so_ badly to believe him.

A Fearow cawed outside the window, shrill and intense. Blue could see it out the window, just out of the corner of his watery eyes. It flapped its wings as the rain picked up from a drizzle to a downpour. The back of his mind hoped it would find safety, but as thunder cracked, he knew a large bird stuck in the middle of a city would face a rough path ahead.

“Is this about…?” Blue asked at last. He couldn’t finish the question, but he didn’t need to.

Red stayed silent, and Blue wished he hadn’t brought it up. He knew the answer already.

In the morning, Blue watched from the kitchen as Red flung on his threadbare backpack and worn-down sneakers. He should say something, he thought, but he couldn’t find words as Red walked out the door.

**-line break-**

Raticate died when Blue was just ten years old, and Blue had been beside himself with grief. Too ashamed to tell his grandfather, too prideful to tell his best friend, too scared to tell his sister, Blue purchased the plot on the first floor of Pokémon Tower with the money he made from battling.

Raticate was a “kids’ Pokémon,” perfect for beginners and easy to train. Weak in the long run, they said. A decent starter if you didn’t follow the superstition of keeping your starter on your team, because if you were serious, you would _have_ to eventually make room for something better.

Blue thought about this a lot when he watched Red cry.

Soft, yellow fur turned gray, and once perky ears started to droop. The electric mouse slowed as he aged and spent more time napping on the couch and less on his trainer’s shoulder. His trainer tried to take it in stride, tried to prepare for the inevitable.

Blue hadn’t been surprised when Red came home with a Thunder Stone. It would be risky, with Pikachu as old as he was, but if it went well, Pikachu could have another few years of life.

Red held it out to his beloved partner, to the first Pokémon he caught, to the beginners’ Pokémon he was supposed to take off his team before reaching the championships. The one who was supposed to evolve decades ago to be worthy of the Hall of Fame. The one who stayed just as he was, with Red never once questioning it.

Blue thought of Raticate as Pikachu turned away from the stone, tail swishing anxiously. Red stood abruptly, put it on a high shelf, and never touched it again.

Blue wondered if the plot next to Raticate was still open.

But…

Pikachu’s role in Raticate’s death was almost as big as Blue’s, and even if Blue had moved on and forgiven, Raticate never got the chance to.

So he let it be.

**-line break-**

Blue turned to face his boyfriend, the small world below them rapidly coming closer. Red’s eyes fluttered open as the plane descended, and he tightened his grip on Blue’s hand. Blue smiled.

“You’ll ride on the back of Charizard to any height imaginable, but planes are still a no go?” he asked softly, teasingly. Red rolled his eyes, but his grip didn’t loosen.

“I know Charizard,” he muttered.

“Well, maybe we oughtta meet the pilot on our next flight,” Blue said cheerily. The plane landed with a rough thud, and Red relaxed.

They walked down the aisle and into the airport, hands intertwined, and Blue couldn’t stop himself from grinning, even as his legs stung with static from sitting still for so long. Red flashed him a smile every now and then as they reached the baggage and Pokémon claim. Pikachu squeaked with delight upon being released from his Pokéball, not even bothering to glare at Blue as he settled into place on his trainer’s shoulder. Eevee wove between their ankles as they walked outside, just as she always did.

Pidgeot and Charizard flew them home from there, and Blue, as always, felt a bit sad the second Red let go of him.

Red, as always, more than made up for it that evening, arms wrapped around Blue’s waist as he tried to cook. The TV played in the background, a short news story playing about the colony of Clefairy dancing, for the first time they’ve seen in decades, under the new moon.

Everything felt impossibly domestic, a word Blue would have never thought could describe them. But here they were, gently bickering and touching and cooking and cleaning, grocery list tacked to their fridge, laundry sitting half-folded on top of the dryer, Pokémon snoring on the living room couch. As Blue turned to reach for the spatula, Red kissed him, lips pressing firmly against Blue’s, and no matter how many times they did this, no matter how many times Red kissed him, Blue would always feel his heart stop for a moment, not believing it could be real.

Blue wondered when this would end.

He then wondered why knew that this… this _thing,_ this _beauty_ would be taken away from him.

**-line break-**

The Battle Tree was fun, partially because of the battles, mostly because of Red. They spent their evenings running along the beach and wandering through the local Alolan towns.

Blue was the most obnoxious form of tourist, trying on every pair of sunglasses, sandals, and sunhats he could find, often dressing up a willing Red alongside him.

Each weekend was filled with swimming and surfing, Lapras and Gyarados splashing them under the hot midday sun. Later, sitting underneath umbrellas, Red would offer to help Blue put sunscreen on his back, and Blue would agree, and Red would draw various shapes out of the white cream. Later, in the mirror, Blue would see sunburns in the patterns of Pokéballs and Luvdisc, and even as his skin burned and chafed, he couldn’t help but laugh.

The vacation couldn’t last forever, though, but he and Red were ready to be home.

**-line break-**

Blue hated to make the trek up Mount Silver almost as much as he hated his empty apartment, but this was a proposition that had to be made in person.

Red sat there as always, as if there was nowhere else in the world that would accept him, when in reality Blue’s closet was only half-filled and the king-sized bed a touch too empty.

“Red,” Blue called. “We’ve been invited to Alola.” His feet crunched through the icy snow as he walked up to Red.

He wasn’t sure what they were, anymore. But he had a general idea of what he wanted them to be.

“Where?” Red asked, voice raspy. He had grown significantly since first making the climb, which Blue thought was unfair. Blue always had the advantage as a child, but now he had to look up at those ruby red eyes, and not down, to see what Red was thinking.

“Alola. Island region, super cool. They’re building up a battle facility and want us to be the top trainers.”

Blue could almost hear Red think it over.

“You can come back to this godforsaken mountain afterwards if you really want to, but I think it’d be a good idea to give it a shot. See actual people again.” _Spend some time with me._

“When?”

“Next month. But you’re welcome to come down with me tonight to read up on everything and prepare. I’ve got the space.”

He thought Red would turn him down, but he didn’t. Instead, Red stood up and grabbed Blue’s hand, a new form of intimacy they hadn’t breached quite yet. Blue tried not to blush too hard.

**-line break-**

The first trek up, Blue was angry. Pissed. Unbelievably enraged.

Hot and fuming, he screamed at Red, threw rocks, demanding to be heard, to be acknowledged, to get the apology he knew he wasn’t owed. Pikachu had growled, cheeks sparking, but Red wordlessly ordered him down.

They hadn’t seen each other in two years. The Johto kid came up here regularly, Blue knew, but he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care. This was Red, and Red didn’t bother to tell him, to ask for him, to want anything form him when Blue just wanted so _goddamn_ much and-

And Red was on top of him, knees on either side of Blue’s hips, hands pinning down Blue’s wrists, Blue’s body pressed into the snow, and Blue felt his rage twist into something else he couldn’t understand.

Red’s breath was warm and heavy, a welcome contrast from the shrieking cold mountain air, and Blue’s mind went fuzzy.

They didn’t kiss, that night. They did everything but.

It kept Blue coming back, though.

**-line break-**

Blue didn’t yell or scream or fight when Red took his championship title. He knew it would happen, though he didn’t know how.

It wasn’t that Red was a better trainer who understood his Pokémon better, honestly. That was true, and that was the reason everyone else would say Red won, but there was something else. Something Blue couldn’t explain.

Blue would never be able to win against Red. He knew this from the day they started on their journey, from the second he saw Red’s eyes light up as Pikachu jumped into his arms and promptly shocked him. He knew it in the way that Red’s hair spiked with static, the biggest smile Blue ever saw his childhood friend make as they battled for the very first time.

He knew it in the way Red softened, ever so slightly, each time a battle ended and his Pokémon would come prancing back to him. He knew it in the way that Red ripped apart Team Rocket, full of duty and righteousness. He knew it in the way Red stared across the horizon, slim and small, wonder etched into his thoughtful features.

He knew it in the way he loved Red, in all his states. He knew it in the way that he knew this love would hurt him beyond measure, and yet he couldn’t let go of it.

Ten years old, Blue knew that his grip wasn’t gentle. He knew that he held on too long, until well after whatever was inside was dead.

He knew that anything he wanted – the champion title, his Raticate, Red – would always be pried out of his fingers by someone better, and he would discover that he’d already ruined it.

So Blue wasn’t angry when Red took his championship title.

In the early morning light, Blue opened his palms and stared, wondering how to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> you ever just
> 
> be overwhelmed with longing


End file.
